Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A PASTORAL COURTSHIP, by THOMAS RANDOLPH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A PASTORAL COURTSHIP, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Behold these woods, and mark, my sweet
Last Line: Unless we meet again to-morrow.


BEHOLD these woods, and mark, my sweet,
How all the boughs together meet?
The cedar his fair arms displays,
And mixes branches with the bays!
The lofty pine deigns to descend,
And sturdy oaks do gently bend.
One with another subtly weaves
Into one loom their various leaves,
As all ambitious were to be
Mine and my Phyllis' canopy.
Let's enter and discourse our loves;
These are, my dear, no tell-tale groves!
There dwell no pies nor parrots there,
To prate again the words they hear,
Nor babbling echo, that will tell
The neighbouring hills one syllable.
Being enter'd, let's together lie,
Twin'd like the zodiac's Gemini!
How soon the flowers do sweeter smell,
And all with emulation swell
To be thy pillow! These for thee
Were meant a bed, and thou for me,
And I may with as just esteem
Press thee, as thou mayst lie on them.
And why so coy? What dost thou fear?
There lurks no speckled serpent here.
No venomous snake makes this his road,
No canker, nor the loathsome toad.
And you poor spider on the tree
Thy spinster will, no t poisoner be,
There is no frog to leap, and fright
Thee from my arms, and break delight;
Nor snail that o'er thy coat shall trace,
And leave behind a slimy lace.
This is the hallowed shrine of love;
No wasp nor hornet haunts this grove,
Nor pismire to make pimples rise
Upon thy smooth and ivory thighs.
No danger in these shades doth lie,
Nothing that wears a sting but I;
And in it doth no venom dwell,
Although perchance it make thee swell.
Being set, let's sport awhile, my fair,
I will tie love-knots in thy hair.
See, Zephyrus through the leaves doth stray,
And has free liberty to play,
And braid thy locks; and shall I find
Less favour than a saucy wind?
Now let me sit, and fix mine eyes
On thee, that art my paradise.
Thou art my all; my spring remains
In the fair violets of thy veins;
And when for autumn I would seek,
'Tis in the apples of thy cheek.
But that which only moves my smart,
Is to see winter in thy heart.
Strange, when at once in one appear
All the four seasons of the year!
I'll clasp that neck, where should be set
A rich and orient carcanet.
But swains are poor; admit of, then,
More natural chains -- the arms of men.
Come, let me touch those breasts, that swell
Like two fair mountains, and may well
Be styl'd the Alps, but that I swear
The snow has less of whiteness there.
But stay (my love), a fault I spy:
Why are those two fair mountains dry?
Which if they run, no Muse would please
To taste of any spring but these.
And Ganymede employ'd should be
To fetch his Jove nectar from thee.
Thou shalt be nurse, fair Venus swears
To the next Cupid that she bears.
Were it not then discreetly done
To ope one spring to let two run?
Fie, fie! this belly, beauty's mint,
Blushes to see no coin stamp'd in't.
Employ it, then; for, though it be
Our wealth, it is your royalty;
And beauty will have current grace
That bears the image of your face.
How to the touch the ivory thighs
Vail gently, and again do rise,
As pliable to impression
As virgin wax, or Parian stone
Dissolv'd to softness; plump and full,
More white and soft than Cotsall wool,
Or cotton from the Indian tree,
Or pretty silkworm's huswifery.
These, on two marble pillars rais'd,
Make me in doubt which should be prais'd,
They or their columns, most: but when
I view those feet, which I have seen
So nimbly trip it o'er the lawns,
That all the satyrs and the fawns
Have stood amaz'd, when they would pass
Over the lees, and not a grass
Would feel the weight; nor rush, nor bent
Drooping betray which way you went.
O, then I felt my hot desires
Burn more, and flame with double fires.
Come, let those thighs, those legs, those feet
With mine in thousand windings meet.
Woven into more subtle twines
Than woodbine, ivy, or the vines.
For when love sees us circling thus,
He'll like no arbour more than us.
Now let us kiss. Would you be gone?
Manners at least allows me one.
Blush you at this? pretty one, stay,
And I will take that kiss away.
Thus with a second, and that too
A third wipes off; so will we go
To numbers that the stars outrun,
And all the atoms in the sun.
For though we kiss till Phoebus' ray
Sink in the sea, and kissing stay,
Till his bright beams return again,
There can of all but one remain:
And if for one good manners call,
In one, good manners, grant me all.
Are kisses all: they but forerun
Another duty to be done.
What would you of that minstrel say
That tunes his pipes and will not play.
Say, what are blossoms in their prime,
That ripen not in harvest-time?
Or what are buds, that ne'er disclose
The long'd-for sweetness of the rose?
So kisses to a lover's guest
Are invitations, not the feast.
See everything that we espy
Is fruitful, saving you and I:
View all the fields, survey the bowers,
The buds, the blossoms, and the flowers,
And say if they so rich could be
In barren, poor virginity.
Earth's not so coy as you are now,
But willingly admits the plough.
For how had man or beast been fed,
If she had kept her maidenhead?
Coelia, once coy as are the rest,
Hugs now a babe on either breast,
And Chloris, since a man she took,
Has less of greenness in her look.
Our ewes have ean'd, and every dam
Gives suck unto her tender lamb.
As by these groves we walked along,
Some birds were feeding of their young.
Some on their eggs did brooding sit,
Sad that they had not hatch'd them yet.
Those that were slower than the rest
Were busy building of the nest;
You only will not pay the fine
You vow'd and owe to Valentine.
As you were angling in the brook
With silken line and silver hook,
Through crystal streams you might descry
How vast and numberless a fry
The fish had spawn'd, that all along
The banks were crowded with the throng.
And shall fair Venus more command
By water than she does by land?
The Phoenix chaste, yet when she dies,
Herself with her own ashes lies.
But let thy love more wisely thrive,
And do the act while th' art alive.
'Tis time we left our childish love,
That trades for toys, and now approve
Our abler skill; they are not wise
Look babies only in the eyes.
That smoth'red smile show'd what you meant,
And modest silence gives consent.
That which we now prepare, will be
Best done in silent secrecy.
Come, do not weep, what is't you fear?
Lest some should know what we do here.
See, not a flow'r you press'd is dead,
But re-erects his bended head;
That whosoe'er shall pass this way
Knows not by these where Phyllis lay.
And in your forehead there is none
Can read the act that we have done.

Phyllis.

Poor credulous and simple maid,
By what strange wiles art thou betrayed!
A treasure thou hast lost to-day
For which thou canst no ransom pay,
How black am I transform'd with sin!
How strange a guilt gnaws me within?
Grief will convert this red to pale;
When every wake and Whitsun-ale
Shall talk my shame! break, break, sad heart!
There is no medicine for my smart,
No herb nor balm can cure my sorrow --
Unless we meet again to-morrow.





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